The Return of Jason Todd
by pupeez4eva
Summary: When the son of a famous billionaire returns from the dead, people will eventually start to notice. Sequel to "The Wayne Family Ghost."
1. Back To School

**AN:**

 **This is a sequel to my fic "The Wayne Family Ghost." It'll be easier to understand parts of this if you read that one first. Hope you enjoy!**

 **...**

Jason knew he should have said no the moment Dick asked him for a favour. After all, no good ever came from getting mixed up with his so-called 'family.' However, there was only so much of Dickhead's whining someone could take before they broke, and Jason had eventually given in, just to shut his older brother up.

After all, it wasn't a ridiculously hard task. Both Dickhead and the old man were preoccupied with other shit (Jason didn't care enough to ask what), which left no one to pick Demon Brat up from school. Apparently the brat had gotten himself in trouble, and was currently in the principal's office. Jason didn't know what he had done, but considering that practically every second word out of the kid's mouth was an insult, Jason would have been more surprised if something like this _hadn_ _'_ _t_ happened.

Dickhead had, however — in classic idiotic, Dickhead style — messed up and called both him and Replacement. Which was why he was now standing in the last position he ever wanted to be in — standing side-by-side with Tim fucking Drake of all people (well, okay, maybe not the _last_ position; this would be _a lot_ worse if Bruce were here instead).

"What has the little shit done anyway?" Jason questioned, pausing at the door to the principal's office. He remembered it clearly; during his short time here, he'd spent quite a bit of quality time in old Mrs. Johnson's office.

"He punched another student," Tim replied, rolling his eyes. "To be honest, I'm not even surprised. We all knew this was coming."

"Yeah, yeah let's just get this over with," Jason sighed. Tim nodded (clearly just as eager as him to wrap this up, and get back to whatever he'd been doing in his miserable life), and reached out to knock on the door. Jason pushed past him, and threw the door open. He ignored Tim's incredulous glance, and barged into the room.

The occupants of the room — Demon Brat, another child (with a rather impressive shiner), two adults who Jason assumed were the kid's parents, the principal (still Mrs. Johnson — so the old woman had yet to cark it), and another woman — glanced up, and all stared at him with wide eyes.

"Hello?" Mrs. Johnson said, frowning at him. Her eyes raked over Jason, and her lips pursed into a disapproving frown. Jason felt a glimmer of pride, knowing that his leather-clad appearance was probably the cause of such a reaction. Annoying and/or terrifying those around him was just so _satisfying._

Damian let out a small groan. "Oh dear lord, _why_ did Father send you two imbeciles?"

"Dickhead is the one who called us," Jason told Damian, glaring. "So be glad we came at all, you little shit."

The mother's eyes widened in alarm, and she quickly covered her son's ears. The boy squirmed in embarrassment.

Tim shot Jason a reproachful glance, before smiling politely at the principal. "Hi," he said, "we're here for Damian Wayne."

Mrs. Johnson frowned. "I asked for his Father to be here," she said stiffly. "I spoke to his brother on the phone, and asked him to pass on the message."

"I'm Valerie Benson — the kids call me Ms. Benson," the other woman — Ms. Benson — said quickly and eagerly. "Damian hit Tommy in the middle of my class. And we don't tolerate violence in this school, so that's why we're here. Damian, do you have anything to say?"

(She sounded ridiculously cheery for a topic that they apparently 'didn't tolerate', Jason couldn't help but note).

"He deserved it," Damian snapped. "And I didn't even hit the fool that hard."

"We're his brothers," Tim told Mrs. Johnson. "I'm Tim Drake-Wayne, and this is — uh, is she alright?"

Jason followed Tim's line of sight. His eyebrows raised as he caught sight of Ms. Benson, who was staring at him with wide eyes, and seemed to be choking on her own spit.

"Oh lord," Damian moaned, staring at her (even though Jason had no idea what was wrong with the woman, apparently Damian did). "Todd, _why_ did you have to show your face around here?!"

Tim turned to Jason, frowning. "What did you _do?!_ _"_ he hissed.

Jason glared back. "Nothing!" he snapped.

"Jason!" Ms. Benson cried, her arm flapping wildly in his direction. "Jason Todd!"

Mrs. Johnson turned to stare at the other woman incredulously. "What?!" she spluttered.

"That's Jason Todd!" Mrs. Benson repeated, while Jason shifted uncomfortably, wondering what the _hell_ was happening. She stared at Jason, a mix of shock, wonder, and terror in her eyes. "You — you're a ghost!"

"Uh…" Jason took a step backwards.

The other boy (Tommy), and his father, continued to watch the proceeding events with wide, confused eyes. His mother on the other hand sat up, clearly displeased with being ignored for so long.

"What is she babbling on about?!" she demanded. "I thought we were here to discuss that boy's treatment of my son?!"

Damian shot her a vicious glare. "Your son is an idiot, and after what he said about my mother, he deserved what he got!"

"How dare you?!" the mother snarled, her face red. She whirled towards Mrs. Johnson, her hands curled into fists. "You're just going to let him sit there, and insult my boy?!" she demanded. "Do something about this!"

Mrs. Johnson opened her mouth to respond, but Ms. Benson cut her off.

"We have more important things to talk about — like the issue of _life and death_!" she cried, her voice bordering hysterical. "Jason, is that really you?!"

"Valerie, stop!" Mrs. Johnson snapped. "That isn't — " She turned to Jason, and froze, her eyes growing wide. Jason shifted uncomfortably; god, this was just fucking _weird._ Beside him, Tim was tense, his eyes flickering wildly over the various occupants of the room.

"Oh my god," she choked, paling, "Jason Todd?!"

"Jason Todd?!" the mother cried shrilly. _"_ _Who_ is Jason Todd?! Why are we talking about _him,_ and not about the _terrible bruise_ my baby is sporting because of that little _monster?!_ _"_

Well, Jason would sure as hell prefer if they were talking about Damian right now. He _really_ didn't like where this conversation was going.

Ms. Benson, seemingly over her bout of hysteria, turned to Jason, and lifted her hands placatingly. "It's okay," she said, in what Jason assumed was an attempt at a soothing voice. "It's Valerie — you can talk to me."

Jason blinked. "Uh, I'm sorry, _who_ are you?"

The woman frowned. "Valerie Benson!" she said, her eyes narrowing. "I went to school with you…I gave you that Valentine's Day card, remember?" When Jason said nothing, she flushed, looking slightly panicked. "You said it looked cool!" she insisted.

Jason shrugged. "I'm sorry lady, but I have no idea who you are."

"Oh wow, this is really bad, isn't it?" Tim muttered (stating the fucking obvious, Jason thought, inwardly rolling his eyes). "Why the hell haven't we dealt with this before?"

"I don't care," Damian grumbled. "This is you're issue, not mine — may I _leave_ now?"

"H-h-how are you still here?" Mrs. Johnson stuttered. "You — you're supposed to be _dead!_ _"_

"And how do you _not_ remember me?!" Ms. Benson snapped shrilly. "I — I spent _hours_ on that card! Do you _know_ how hard it is to stick individual sequins on with a hot glue gun?! I can't even _count_ how many times I burnt my fingers!"

"For the last time bitch, I do _not_ know who you are!"

"And I don't know who _you_ are!" Ms. Benson shrieked, her face rapidly turning red. "You were such a sweet guy — I don't recognise the hateful man standing in front of me!"

"Valerie, _shut your goddamn trap!_ _"_ Mrs. Johnson snarled. She slumped back in her chair, breathing heavily. "Stop talking about your hideous Valentine's Day card, and let's focus on the fact that there is a _dead man standing in my office!_ _"_

The mother stood up abruptly. "That's it — Robert, let's go!" she cried, tugging on her husband's arm. "I refuse to deal with this horrible institution any longer! Surely we can find our baby a _far_ better school to attend — "

"Shh, I'm trying to listen!" the father hissed, swatting her away with one hand.

"Uh, look, this isn't what you think," Tim said nervously.

Jason turned to him. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Fixing your mess!" Tim replied swiftly, his voice low.

"…How the fuck is this _my_ mess?"

Damian rolled his eyes. "You were weak and idiotic enough to allow yourself to die Todd — that makes this _your_ mess."

"Hello?!" Mrs. Johnson interrupted. "Is anyone going to tell me what the _hell_ is going on?!"

Tim swallowed. "Well, uh, it's simple," he said, stumbling over his words. "Jason is standing here because — well, because the truth is…uh…well…"

"I faked my own death," Jason finished promptly.

Everyone turned to stare at him. Both Tim and Damian gaped incredulously.

"Wow," the father murmured, transfixed, "this is better than a soap opera!"

"You what?" Mrs. Johnson spluttered.

Ms. Benson's eyes narrowed accusingly, and she shook her head rapidly. "That's a _lie!_ _"_ she snapped. "I was at the funeral — I _saw_ the body!"

Jason faltered. "You _what?!_ _"_ he choked, staring at her in disbelief. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you lady?! What, are you some kind of deranged stalker?!"

"You were my _first love!_ _"_

Jason took a step backwards. "I don't even know who you _are!_ _"_

"It, uh, wasn't a real body," Tim said abruptly. Everyone turned to stare at him, and he shifted uncomfortably under the weight of their stares.

"I mean," he continued, "it was, uh…a wax replica."

Okay, _how_ had this idiot replaced him?

"A…wax replica?" Mrs. Johnson repeated slowly.

"Yes — yes, that's what I said," Tim replied, nodding quickly. "See, they never found a body, and Bruce didn't like the idea of an empty coffin, so he, uh…"

"…Built a wax replica of me," Jason finished (he still thought it was a stupid solution, but he supposed they didn't really have anything else to work it). "Because, you know, the old man is just messed up that way."

Tim winced. "He was mourning," he corrected.

Jason snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, mourning so much that he couldn't even _find the person responsible for my tragic death._ _"_

Tim shot him a quick glare. "Yes Jason but you didn't _die,_ remember? Like you just said — you _faked your own death._ _"_

"Can we go now?" Tommy whispered to his parents, tugging on his mother's sleeve. His mother smiled indulgently, nodded, and pet him on the head.

"Yes, we're leaving, Sweetheart. Unless someone is willing to address this situation in the next few seconds…"

No one glanced in their direction. The mother let out a furious huff, grabbed her husband (who was still transfixed by the current events) by his collar, and her son by his arm, and stormed out of the room.

" _And you_ _'_ _ll be hearing from my lawyers!_ _"_

Still, no one noticed.

"A wax replica…" Ms. Benson murmured, shaking her head. "That makes _so_ much sense."

Tim nodded. "Yeah," he said weakly, "billionaires…they're an eccentric bunch, aren't they? Don't know what to do with all that money so…when there's an empty coffin to fill…"

"You can shut up now Drake, before you embarrass yourself any further," Damian hissed.

Mrs. Johnson slumped back in her seat, shaking her head. "I don't believe this," she muttered.

Damian rolled his eyes. "Well, what other explanation is there?" he snorted. "Todd came back from the dead?"

"Well of course not," Mrs. Johnson retorted. "That would be _impossible._ _"_

Despite everything, Jason had to bite back a grin at that.

"Now, may I _leave?!_ _"_ Damian demanded.

The principal shook her head. "Now hold on," she said, "we still need to deal with — wait, where did they go?" She looked around her half-filled office, finally realising that Tommy and his family had left some time ago.

"Great," Jason said, "so now that everything's solved, I'm going to take Demon Brat and leave. And we are _never_ going to speak of this again, okay?"


	2. The (Unauthorised) Press Conference

Bruce should have expected something like this.

Jason had been restored to life for a number of years now, and he had no idea _why_ he hadn't considered that something like this might happen. There was only so long that a dead man could wonder around, before someone realised that they were supposed to be dead.

Jason's time had run out, and now Bruce was suffering the consequences (and why wasn't he surprised?).

He didn't know the details — Tim had been rather skittish, and Damian and Jason hadn't been any help at all — but apparently Jason had showed up at Damian's school, which had consequently resulted in a number of people realising that he was very much alive (including that annoying Ms. Benson — Bruce still cringed when he thought about her shrill voice). Apparently a mother had been present, and had run out of the office shrieking that, _"_ _her baby was being treated unjustly, and who CARED if some strange Jason Todd fellow had returned from the dead?!_ _"_

The story had spread, and he'd woken that morning to the sound of frantic, excited shrieks. He'd opened the front door, and had immediately been ambushed by the familiar flashing of cameras.

Dammit, and he hadn't even had time to hold a press conference.

So now he, along with his sons (oh, of all mornings to have all of them at the manor. Bruce had been rather pleased last night — it had been a rather tough few nights of patrol, and Jason had remained at the manor on Alfred's stern request — but now he cursed his luck), stood in front of those damn media vultures, while Bruce struggled to come up with an acceptable cover story. Bruce was just glad that only Dick, Tim and Jason were here; Damian had yet to come downstairs, and for that he was glad. Having three of his sons out here was bad enough; all four would just be the cherry on top of an already terrible morning.

This was ridiculously hard. He was Batman — things like this were supposed to come naturally to him, but… _god,_ being Batman didn't prepare him for explaining why his supposedly dead son was currently standing next to him.

"Truth is, I was never dead," Jason told them, and Bruce winced. Who had told Jason he could speak to the reporters? It was best if he gave them a short response — maybe a quick 'no comment' would be best, and then he could come up with a suitable excuse later on.

"I only faked my death," Jason continued. "And now I'm back, so I don't need to pretend to be dead anymore. So — there's your story."

"Uh, no, that's not the whole story," Dick interjected, and Bruce decided that he _really_ needed to intervene before they ruined everything. "You see — "

"I faked my own death, Dickhead — what more is there to say?" Jason snorted.

The reporters were listening with rapt attention, and jotting down every word. Bruce was sure that they wouldn't miss a thing, and he felt a spark of despair. A 'no comment' would have been so _easy._ Or even a reminder that this was private property, and he could have them arrested. But no; Jason _had_ to go and open his mouth, and then Dick had to go and do the same thing, and — oh, who was he kidding, Tim would probably be joining in soon enough.

He needed to stop this before it went too far (well, further than it already had).

"Okay, that'll be all for now," he said loudly. "My family and I — "

"Why did you pretend to be dead, Jason?" a female reporter called out.

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Jason beat him to it.

"I had a dream," he said. "One that Bruce could _never_ accept. I didn't want to leave, but, well, you've got to do what's best for you, right?"

The reporters listened intently, their eyes gleaming at the prospect of a new story.

"You see — there was one thing I wanted most in this world."

Bruce held his breath. Oh god, this was Jason, and who _knew_ what ridiculous thing was about to come out of his mouth…

"And that was to be a folk singer."

Bruce blinked.

"Wait, what?" Dick blurted out.

"But I knew if I stuck around, Bruce would _never_ approve of the path I had taken." Jason shot Bruce an accusing stare, while Bruce continued to stare at him incredulously. "So I thought — "fuck it; I'm just going to leave."

"You never gave me the chance," Bruce snapped, forcing himself to set aside his confusion and disbelief. If this was the game Jason wanted to play, then fine — he would play along. "You jumped to your own conclusions."

" _Please,"_ Jason snorted. "You made yourself _abundantly_ clear about your views on…folk music."

Bruce clenched his fists. "It's not my fault I don't agree — I mean, enjoy folk music," he snapped.

Jason glared at him. "Oh, how the fuck would you know anything about it?" he spat. "Maybe if you actually gave it a try, you'd realise that it's people like _me_ who make this fucked up world just a little bit better."

"He really likes folk music," Tim told the reporters (who were starting to look more than a little confused).

"I'm helping purge the filth in this world!"

"…A lot." Tim shifted uncomfortably. "He likes it _a lot."_

"It's just _wrong_ Jason!" Bruce snapped.

"Bruce!" a reporter yelled. _"Why_ are you so against folk music?!"

"Oh you know," Dick said, his voice shaking slightly, "he's just never been a fan. He's more of a pop person, really — you know, you just hear him bursting into song at the most random moments —"

"Dick," Bruce warned.

"So if Jason faked his death, why was there a body?"

Bruce winced. Was it too late to simply turn around and go inside? And dammit, couldn't these vultures give him some time to _think?_

"Wax replica," Tim said abruptly. "Bruce, uh, didn't want an empty coffin so — we used a wax replica."

"It's that a bit…much?" a female reporter asked, frowning.

Dick's eyes narrowed. "You're really going to question the actions of a grieving father?"

Bruce took a step backwards, and motioned at his sons. Perhaps if they all went inside now, they could avoid anymore —

"Jason! Jason, why did you go to such lengths?! Surely simply leaving home would have sufficed."

"Have you ever had a dream?" Jason demanded, taking a step forward. "Something you wanted more than _anything?_ Why — I didn't even have a choice!" He let out a short, barking laugh. "It was like being _hit by a crowbar over and over —_ it wouldn't stop until I just _had to leave!"_

"…May I quote you on that?"

"So I thought, fuck it," Jason continued, smirking widely (oh, he would find some way to make him pay, he thought sourly). "Goodbye Bruce, folk music here I come. And then I left, and the annoying crowbar bashing stopped."

"Oh god…" Tim whispered incredulously, while Dick winced.

"But then — "

"Jason, I think that's enough," Bruce hissed.

"Bruce, let him speak!" a male reporter cried out. "You've kept him quiet long enough! It's alright son — we understand your vision, and we support it!"

Jason smirked. "Yeah well — after a while I just _had_ to come back, and show my _beloved_ family just how far I'd come. Of course there were a few extra members but — you know how it is. You die, you get replaced, the world moves on."

Bruce bit back a groan. He needed some coffee. And his bed. And someone to hit him repeatedly over the head for deciding that being a father would be a good idea.

"So yeah, that's uh, our official statement," Dick said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Um…could you leave now?"

…

 **AN:**

 **Was originally going to leave this story as a oneshot, but then I had this idea, so I decided to add an extra part :) Damian wasn't in this, just because I couldn't find a way to fit him in (something I am quite sad about, because Damian is probably one of my absolute favourite characters, and I love writing about him).**

 **Hope you enjoyed!**


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